Top 10 of 2010

(***For those of you reading this on the Chris Milam site, apologies for the intro.  This is my first post at the Vinyl District, a fantastic music blog out of D.C. that's launching a sister site Memphis.  I'll fill in all the details very soon, I promise.  Meantime, enjoy!)


For those of you I haven't met, let me introduce myself: I'm Chris Milam ("MY-lum").  I'm a singer/songwriter from Memphis, then Nashville, then NYC, now back in Memphis, splitting my time between home and an overactive touring schedule.  I like BBQ, football, dogs, and democracy (in that order).  My passion for trampolines is "well above average."  I have an encyclopedic knowledge of Saved By the Bell, but can't do long division.  I enjoy everything Paul Newman ever made, including pasta sauce.  And (obviously) I love music.

I keep a Blog at my site, ChrisMilam.com, where I talk a lot about music: writing it, performing it, and listening to it.  Recently, Memphis music community dynamo Rachel Hurley asked if I'd like to contribute to Vinyl District's soon-to-launch Memphis site.  Naturally, I said yes!

Every month I'll have a running feature that will be posted right here.  Occasionally I'll post something extra, such as today's Top 10 Albums of 2010.  And, of course, you can get all my posts on TVD and elsewhere by simply bookmarking the Chris Milam Blog and/or subscribing. 

Being an artist and writing about other artists gets tricky; drafting a Top 10 Albums list when you've released an album in 2010 yourself is like voting on superlatives at a super-small high school.  With every omission or oversight, you nonsensically expect someone to feel slighted.  As I type this, I imagine a scenario in which Eminem (whom I've never met) gets his feelings hurt and shows up at my door with baseball bats and half the Detroit Tigers.

Naturally, I'm giving a superlative flair to my list.  Here, now, are my Top 10 Albums for 2010!

(Side note: Please feel free to join the conversation in the comments!  But be forewarned: this isn't a "Best Of" list, it's a "Favorites" list.  Sometimes "best" and "favorite" aren't the same thing.  For example, "Day In the Life" is the best song on Sgt. Pepper, but "Good Morning, Good Morning" is my favorite.  You get the idea.  So, I'm totally open to the fact that some albums that might've been better than these.  They're simply my ten favorites of 2010.  With high school superlatives assigned to them.  Enjoy!)

10) "Life of the Party": Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, I Learned the Hard Way.
I Love It Because: They've always been a great band, but this is a another leap forward in their songwriting.
Perfect For: Going to a party your ex is attending and having an awesome time despite them.
Listen To: "I Learned the Hard Way"

9) "Most Huggable": Magic Kids, Memphis.
I Love It Because: The Beach Boys' sonic influence drew me in; the Beach Boys' intellectual influence that kept me listening: simple songs conveying complex emotions.  Earnest, charming, and beautifully-executed.  
Perfect For: Hanging by a pool in July with a girl you secretly like.
Listen To: "Phone"


8) "Most Dependable": Delta Spirit, History From Below.
I Love It Because: I think this about sums it up.  After Ode To Sunshine, this sophomore album gave me the right balance of expected pleasures and pleasant surprises. 
Perfect For: Coming home after a long time away and feeling a little uneasy.  Bonus points if fireflies are somehow involved.
Listen To: "Golden State"

7) "Most Likely To Succeed": Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More.
I Love It Because: British group with Avett-esque roots, anger issues and otherworldly harmonies?  Sign me up.  Bonus points for a folk-band being this pop-friendly and ambitious--I'm excited by this album, but I'm more excited to see where they go next. 
Perfect For: Drinking by yourself in January and wondering if you should call her (for the record, the answer is "no.").
Listen To: "Sigh No More"

6) "Class Beauty": Band of Horses, Infinite Arms.
I Love It Because: Sheer sonic beauty.  Nearly every song on this album has at least one moment that makes me want to hear it again.  And again, and again... 
Perfect For: Driving through a snow flurry a week before Christmas.  Bonus points if you're exhausted/a little sick/ambivalent about your destination.
Listen To: "Older"

5) "Most Popular": Kings of Leon, Come Around Sundown.
I Love It Because: I loved their first album for its sound and attitude.  I loved the second album for its songs.  I loved the third for its scope and weirdness.  I loved the fourth for its naked ambition--they're clearly gunning for the title "Biggest Band On Earth."  And I love the fifth album because they're embracing that success--they sound at ease.  I love bands that explicitly want to be the Biggest.  Come Around Sundown shows KOL as the rare band comfortable in that role. 
Perfect For: Attending a birthday party for someone you don't know.
Listen To: "Mary"

4) "Class Clown": Dr. Dog, Shame, Shame.
I Love It Because: It sounds like a 40-minute, understated, lovely goodbye letter from an old friend.  There's great levity--and underlying sadness--in all of my favorite Dr. Dog songs, and this album walks that tightrope beautifully. 
Perfect For: Whatever you do the most without thinking about it, then thinking about it.
Listen To: "Shadow People"

3) "Most Well-Rounded": Dawes, North Hills.
I Love It Because: I love anything/everything that successfully derives from the Band.  Their lyrics--weaving between narratives, self-examination, and philosophical musings--kept me listening.  The music industry is increasingly niche-driven, which puts pressure on artists to focus each album around doing "one thing well."  Kudos to Dawes for putting so many different types of songs together, and letting their strengths and their collective story speak for themselves. 
Perfect For: Playing in the background as you're raking leaves, trying not to think about a girl (and failing).
Listen To: "When My Time Comes"

2) "Prom/Homecoming King": Tom Petty, Mojo.
I Love It Because: It's Tom Petty's Love and Theft.  Because Petty's been making great pop songs for decades, we tend to take him for granted.  We shouldn't: his gift of making something this hard look this easy, song after song, album after album, is maybe the rarest of all.  These songs sound like a breath of fresh air--inspired, exuberant, and deftly-performed--which is remarkable from one of rock's elder statesman.    
Perfect For: Motel-hopping in the great American west, flirting with diner waitresses, and daydreaming about pirates.
Listen To: "I Should've Known It"

1) "Most Likable": New Pornographers, Together.
I Love It Because: I can't imagine anyone not loving something on this album.  It's catchy, generous of spirit, familiar yet surprising, lyrically challenging, and imminently listenable.     
Perfect For: A spring day alone in the park, and enjoying yourself even more than if you had a date.
Listen To: "Moves"

Also receiving votes (in semi-alphabetical order):
Valedictorian: Belle & Sebastian (Write About Love), Josh Ritter (So Runs the World Away)
Lives of (Another) Party: Black Keys (Brothers), Hold Steady (Heaven Is Whenever), Kanye West (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), MGMT (Congratulations)
Class Rebel: Dead Weather (Sea of Cowards), Jamey Johnson (The Guitar Song)
Best Dressed: Vampire Weekend (Contra)

What were your favorites of 2010?  What did I leave out?  Hit up the comments and join the fray!

Song of the Week: Special Pre-Fall Edition

One of my favorite things about music is the way we attach it to a specific time and place in our life.  In college, I began making mixes at the end of each semester so I could remember what I was listening to years later.  But it wasn't just about remembering what music I liked at the time; it was about finding the songs that carried weight.

To put it another way, "what song can immediately put me back in the summer of 2005?"  When I want to remember what that period felt like, I can just play Lucero's "Sixteen" and remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, and how it felt to be there at that time.  I hear those opening chords and I'm back on Walnut Grove Rd in Memphis, driving home late from the Blue Monkey.  I can feel the sticky July air blowing through the car, and I can smell the honeysuckle from Shelby Farms.  It's the way I track--and make sense of--my memories.

Each season usually takes shape around one favorite album or artist that dominates my earbuds.  I listened to a lot of music last fall, but the artist that most defined that season is the Avett Brothers, specifically their song "I And Love And You."

Because I'm desperate for fall and already anticipating the new music I'll hear in the coming months, I want to look ahead by looking back.  Here's a little window into my favorite songs from the past five falls, and how they impacted my life. 

Feel free to chime in the comments and tell me your songs of falls past!

2005: My Morning Jacket, "Anytime"
I had just finished college, spent a summer in Memphis, and moved back to Nashville to release Leaving Tennessee and begin a career.  Even though I'd already spent four years in college in Nashville, I felt like it was moving to a brand new city.  I was quickly consumed by new groups of friends, new places to explore, and new things to do.  There was always a reason to go out, always another event to attend, another trip to take--it was an exciting time.  My Morning Jacket's Z had just come out, and stayed in my car.  Anytime I hear "Anytime," I'm back in my car, about to go to a concert, about to meet new friends.  It's the sound of that post-grad, wide open with possibilities, seemingly free of consequence.

2006: Scott Miller, "Goddamn the Sun"
Really, this should be a co-winner with Miller's "Loving That Girl."  Those songs told two parts of the same story--a story that played out for me that fall.  I always remember the fall of 2006 as having daily perfect weather--sunny, crisp, and cloudless.  The sparkling pop-rock and acoustic production on Thus Always To Tyrants was simply the sound of that weather.  The lyric "my window creeps across my wall" was a familiar image in my bedroom (the window faced south and the shadows crawled across my wall every afternoon).  Sometimes a song finds you the moment your life resembles it.

2007: The Hold Steady, "Stuck Between Stations"

I wanted this pick to be My Morning Jacket's cover of "It Makes No Difference," because that song meant the most to me in the fall of 2007.  But when I hear "Stuck Between Stations," I'm immediately transported to one time and place.  My brother had just moved to town and we got a house together on the East side.  For the first time, I had to drive across the river to meet friends at night.  Every time I hear "Stuck Between Stations," I'm on 440W circling the skyline, driving with my brother to show him my favorite places and people in this new home.

2008: Kings of Leon, "Notion"
Everything about this song--the arrangement, the guitar tones, the wide open song structure, the measured energy--simply sounds like October to me.  Which is great, because I hit it hard in October 2008.  I thought I was listening to "Notion" because of the sheer fun and fallish beauty of it; I realize now the song's lyrics (about a cyclic relationship that just isn't right) characterize my life at the time.  I felt upbeat, but not content; I enjoyed my life in Nashville, but I was ready for a change.  Whenever I hear "Notion," it sounds like a kickstart, a wake-up call--the moment I knew I was headed somewhere else. 

2009: Avett Brothers, "I And Love And You"
I first heard this on Letterman the day after I'd left Nashville and the night before I moved to NYC.  By the time they reached the chorus ("Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in/are you aware the shape I'm in"), I was a wreck.  No song better characterized what I felt when I left, what that journey looked like, and what I anticipated when I arrived. 

2010: Who knows? TBD
That's one thing I love about music, and what I love about making these mixes: something will emerge.  There's always another song waiting to meet us.  Maybe we've heard it before and are about to hear it in a new way.  Maybe it's a brand new song.  Either way, it's there, somewhere down the road, chronicling the season and informing our memories.

What are your past Songs for the Fall?  What will you be listening to this fall? Let me know what favorite tunes can put you in a certain time and place.

December Mailbag (Year In Review Edition)

December 2009: the end of a year, a decade, and (sure, why not) an era.

No matter who you are or where your pop cultural allegiances lay, the past year (and past several years) brought plenty to your proverbial table. It's maybe the happiest byproduct of an increasingly accelerated culture: there's a ton of stuff to choose from. Don't like something? Wait ten minutes.

Of course, every blogger, magwriter, talking head, headshrinker, podcaster, and lieutenant of taste is searching for a way to sum up this decade. Everyone wants the all-inclusive cultural stamp that will give the Zeroes a cohesiveness they've thus-far evaded. Nine years later, we haven't even decided what to call this decade (Oughts, Zeroes, O's?), much less how to describe it. It's been said (a lot) that the hallmark of this year--and, in a way, this decade--is how disjointed, incongruous, and difficult to summarize it's been. In 2029, what will we remember as definitive of this era? What pop cultural offerings (films, albums, TV shows, celebrities) will be remembered as typifying American life?

These questions--and a few others--are on the minds of the Blog's readers.

So let's tackle them in December's Mailbag!

(As always, these are questions from actual readers. If you'd like to send one in, just drop me a line! chris@chrismilam.com)

Hey Chris! A while back, you listed some Best Of the Decade nominees for people to vote for. Who were the winners, and what got your vote?
--Ben, Los Angeles

Because of some bad Blogger gadgets, real vote-collecting was rendered impossible. However, I did get a sense from FB/Twitter/email where most folks were leaning. There wasn't a real consensus; if anything, the general consensus was that there is no consensus. People voted more for the "Other" option than anything. This is interesting for a few reasons:

1) It supports my original hypothesis: a Decade Best-Of consensus would be difficult because this decade was defined by fragmented culture, niche-driven media, and highly specialized fanship.

2) People also didn't agree on what constitutes "pop culture," or at least didn't agree with my basic premise: for something to define (or top) an entire decade, more than twelve people had to like it.

3) The closest thing to a consensus is that hip hop's biggest singles had a greater impact and more relevance than those of the other genres. In other words, U2, Bruce, and even Radiohead couldn't touch Outkast, Kanye, and Jay-Z. This is also interesting for the sheer number of people who state, "I like everything, except rap." Yet there's this wordless understanding (among people that don't like rap) that the decade's best hip hop hits probably came the closest to defining this era.

4) If there is a current King of Pop, it's Justin Timberlake. There is an almost universal, overwhelming recognition of/respect for his celebrity in 2009. Considering his image in 1999 , this is a little surprising.

In the interest of full-disclosure, I'll give you my votes for each category. If you'd like to see the full breakdown and nominees, just click here.

Best Rock Album - Green Day, American Idiot
A slightly unexpected pick, since I've rated 21st Century Breakdown above American Idiot, and both were made this decade. They're both remarkable albums--I just happen to like the songs on 21CB a little more. I don't think there's any question, however, that American Idiot was more accurately of its time; 21st Century Breakdown feels like the first record of a new decade more than the last record of this one.
Listen Here: American Idiot

Best Singer/Songwriter Album - Josh Ritter, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter
This is a tough one to call. The mainstream media pick would be either:
1) John Mayer (probably Continuum), because he was the biggest new singer/songwriter of the Oughts, and he seems to have a requisite amount of "Seriousness" to make him a respectable pick.
2) Bruce Springsteen (The Rising), because these whippersnappers ain't got nothing on the Boss, man.
I don't agree with either, because I think better pop albums were made than Mayer's, and better topical albums were made than Springteen's.

The unhappy median would be Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes (I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning/Digital Ash In a Digital Urn), because:
1) He's of this generation.
2) He's "serious," and "topical," and "political," and "these things mattered in the 2000's."
3) Bright Eyes were a seminal band under the greater tent of whatever-people-mean-when-they-say-emo. And, for better or worse, "emo" was an advent of this decade.
Again, this isn't satisfactory, because there were better "serious," "topical," "political," and "stylistically influential" albums this decade, too--albeit less popular.

So, I'm picking what I believe was the best collection of songs released by a singer/songwriter: Josh Ritter's The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter. No atmospheric crooner can touch "Wait for Love," no nascent lyricist can touch "To the Dogs or Whoever," and nobody, period, can top "The Last Temptation of Adam." It's simply the best collection of songs by a singer/songwriter this decade--it just so happens singer/songwriters weren't especially popular this decade.
Listen Here: The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter

Best Hip Hop Album - Outkast, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below
As much as I love The Black Album and College Dropout, they came out in the wrong era. The moment Speakerboxxx/The Love Below dropped, everyone else was playing for second.
Listen Here: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below

Best Pop/R&B Album - Amy Winehouse, Back to Black
There's little doubt that it's Timberlake's Popworld and we're all just living in it, but Amy Winehouse had the best--and most relevant--pop album of the Oughts.
Listen Here: Back To Black

Best Rock Single - MGMT, "Time to Pretend"
This was a hard choice, especially because it's nowhere near my favorite rock single. But a vote from my brother (then, oddly enough, ESPN's Sports Guy) got me thinking: there might've been bigger singles, and there might have been personal favorites (mine was My Morning Jacket's "One Big Holiday"). But there was no better rock hit in the Zeroes than "Time to Pretend." It's a twisted, re-imagined Teenage Wasteland, obsessed with celebrity, easy success, and stunted emotional growth. It's equal parts earnest and ironic, rocking and electronic, contemporary and futuristic, dreamy and nightmarish. It sounds like two hypersmart kids trying to put the final nail in rock's coffin--and subsequently bringing it back to life.

Best Hip Hop/Pop Single - Outkast, "Hey Ya"
Truly, the best hip-hop single of the O's was from 1999: Outkast's "B.O.B." Never one to retread old paths, "Hey Ya" focused on the individual warfare of a single relationship, rather than the cultural warfare depicted in "B.O.B." You won't hear "Bush," or "terrorism," or "Paris Hilton" in "Hey Ya"; you'll hear the best, most multi-faceted, bittersweet, jubilant depiction of a relationship gone wrong this side of 2000. And you will hear perhaps the most all-encompassing throwaway lyric of all-time, "Y'all don't wanna hear me/you just wanna dance." I can't think of a better epitaph for the Oughts.

Best TV Comedy - The Office
For transcendent comedy, only Arrested Development's masterful three seasons can compete with The Office's best work. However, AD's influence was limited by its niche audience, while The Office shifted the paradigm of American network comedies. Like Seinfeld in the 90's, it's that rare, great, groundbreaking show that also became a massive hit.

Best TV Drama - The Wire
The exception to my "limited audience, limited influence" rule: The Wire was so much better than every other TV drama (this from a Mad Men superfan) this decade, and so perfectly descriptive of American life in the 2000's, that it simply doesn't matter how many people own the DVD's. If you don't, I promise: it's your fault, not The Wire's. The show's that good, that important, and that characteristic of its time.

This wasn't the best TV drama, or TV show: for my money, The Wire was the best piece of art American pop culture offered this decade.

Best Film Drama - The Departed
It featured arguably the strongest collection of this generation's actors (whether younger actors, or older ones peaking now). It also grappled with The Wire's themes of institutional poverty, crime, blurred moral lines, villainous heroes and heroic villains, and what it means to fight a losing battle. I can't think of a better story to tell from the decade that was.

Best Film Comedy - Royal Tenenbaums
The Departed masterfully tackled societal issues on an individual level; the Royal Tenenbaums characterized individual issues in a social context. The closest thing to a perfect film I've seen this decade.

Agree? Disagree? Let me hear it!

Dear CM, what was your favorite album of the year? Your favorite song? Thanks!
--Rachel, Memphis
You're welcome! This is a great question. Because my favorite song and album are different from what I think were the "best" song and album, I'll answer both:

Best Song of the Year: Green Day "21st Century Breakdown"
It's a more complex, anthemic, and dynamic song than the thematically similar "Know Your Enemy." It's as good a finale for the decade as I've heard, and as good a prologue to the 2010's as we could hope for.

Honorable Mention: Kings of Leon "Use Somebody"
This song has received all the predictable backlash a monster hit engenders. It's blustery, almost too catchy, and the video's beyond ridiculous. It's a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them. When I first heard it (on the album in late 2008), I thought it was the quintessential Kings of Leon song: "You know that I could use somebody/someone like you" finally juxtaposed the strength/vulnerability conflict KOL's been writing around for years. The play on "use" puts him equally in the passive and active role--the narrator needs someone (he "could use" some company; he's lonely, isolated, exhausted, etc.), but he also knows he could leverage his fame/fortune/celebrity to have anyone's company (hence, manipulating/"using" them). It's a tidy refrain that sums up the band's lonely-rockstar image and executes it to perfection in the song composition itself. Folks who think "Use Somebody" is dumber than "Viva la Vida" either a) aren't paying attention, or b) don't speak English.

Favorite Song of the Year: The Avett Brothers, "I And Love And You"
Gorgeous songwriting, flawless execution, refreshing production, and I heard it the night before I moved to New York. It owned me from the opening chord.

Best Album of the Year: Green Day, 21st Century Breakdown
This was a relatively strong year in the pop/rock world--certainly cause for celebration and optimism leading into the next decade--but I can't make a strong case for anything but 21CB. In 2009, there was Green Day, and there was everyone else.

Favorite Album of the Year: Lucero, 1372 Overton Park
Because there is nothing so exciting--and rewarding--as a music fan than watching a good band become great.

But what were your favorites of the year? Hit up the comments or drop me a line (chris@chrismilam.com) and let me know!

Finally...

Christofferson! Do you have any New Years resolutions?
--Nicole, New York
First, congratulations to Nicole for being the second person to call me Christofferson. Second, I do have some New Years resolutions. I always make New Years resolutions, because I genuinely believe in everyone's capacity for self-improvement.

I once knew a girl who told me, "New Years resolutions are dumb. I don't make any, because I know I'll forget or abandon them by February. Everyone does. It's a silly ritual and a set-up for disappointment."

Or, you could use an arbitrary date on the calendar to set real, tangible goals for yourself and try to meet them. It's amazing to me when folks believe self-improvement should come from anywhere but them, through hard work, over time. Nothing really good is really quick or really easy...but it is worth it.

Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe I only think this because I'm a masochist, a workaholic, an insomniac, and a hyperactive loon. Hence, I love New Years resolutions. I love making a list of "hard stuff to do" and forcing myself to do it long after I've reconsidered its worth. I make a ton of resolutions. Here are a few for 2010:

New Years Resolutions (A Sampling):
--Write at least 60 new songs.
--Play at least 50 concerts.
--Learn 1 instrument I've never played before.
--Make 1 new album (needs to be made in 2010, not necessarily released in 2010)
--See 5 states I've never seen before.
--Visit 1 country I've never visited before.
--Visit my family in West Virginia.
--Do not miss any birthdays of friends or family.
--Read at least 1 book that I don't want to read.
--Read at least 1 book that's been recommended to me.
--Go see at least 1 movie that I don't think I'll like.
--Talk less.
--Listen more.
--Give up something for Lent (something big, TBD).
--Beat the Phaal Challenge (an Indian place on my block has the hottest curry in America, and I'm destined to conquer it).
--Take (generally) more pictures.
--Pray for other people, when asked. It doesn't hurt anything.
--Never hold back a compliment.

Then there are a bunch of resolutions and goals specific to my career, which might bore you, and a few more personal ones, which might not, but I won't write them.

What are your resolutions? Do you make any? Gonna beat the February jinx this year? Hit up the comments and give them to me--I'd love to hear how 2010's looking better already.

Songs for October

Last spring, I ranked September #1 because it's both the thing itself and the anticipation of something greater; it's a consequence-free environment. You anticipate leaves changing. You track the cooler mornings. You wait for earlier nights. You settle in, meet up, and start the sprint. September's a furious opening act.

But October's the show. The leaves change, the nights come quickly, sweaters come out, mornings get brisk, Octoberfest lines the beer shelves. Every storyline from September's mad dash now has consequences. The plot thickens, the air thins.

If you love fall (and I do), then you live for October (and I d0).

Here now are 31 songs about change, songs written from the thick of it, songs golden then black, bright then fading, songs that sound like a skyline sunset and a world on fire. Here now:

31 Songs for October!

***Now with Clickable Playlist. Thanks Michael!

(Plus, iTunes' random pick.)
(Don't forget to comment and tell me your Songs for October.)

Green Day, "21st Century Breakdown"
The title track to the record because it sounds like the beginning and the end.

Band of Horses, "Islands on the Coast"
I'll be honest: I don't think Band of Horses are spectacular. I'm not sure they're great. But they do this very, very well.

Dropkick Murphys, "I'm Shipping Up to Boston"
What I imagine playoff season in New England sounds like...especially if Boston loses.

The Strokes, "Last Nite"
Consequences.

Teenage Fanclub, "About You"
Sometimes a band writes from a place nearing self-parody. Kings of Leon's anticipated single being "Sex on Fire." Bono singing about Jesus complexes. And Teenage Fanclub saying, "screw it, let's start every song with a ton of jangly guitars and layered harmonies and figure it out from there." Sometimes, you gotta double down.

Simon & Garfunkel, "Cecilia"
Consequences.

REM, "Me in Honey"
One of Stipes' strongest vocals, and one of his most honest lyrics. That's saying something.

Lucero, "San Francisco"
I pick this one with a caveat: their new record comes out October 6. It's possible 1372 Overton Park becomes my actual October Playlist.

Death Cab for Cutie, "No Sunlight"
Bright melody about fading innocence, complete with sunset imagery. It's a shoe-in.

The New Pornographers, "All the Old Showstoppers"
It sounds like October, and I have no clue why.

Belle & Sebastian, "If She Wants Me"
Consequences. Bonus points: rage has never been sung so sweetly.

Fountains of Wayne, "No Better Place"
Somehow, Fountains of Wayne have gone from "forgettable one-hit wonder" to "goofy popsters" to "sleeper favorite band" in a matter of months. They didn't change; I did.

My Morning Jacket, "Lay Low"
The song's beginning sounds like the start of a good night; its remarkable outtro sounds like the end of a bad night.

Daniel Johnston, "Devil Town"
I'd love to tell you I'm cool enough to know Daniel Johnston's entire catalog. I actually heard Bright Eyes' cover on Friday Night Lights. So, um, yeah.

Bob Dylan, "When the Ship Comes In"
He's singing about a day in the future, but he knows it's already come.

The Byrds, "Turn! Turn! Turn!"
If someone asked me what the quintessential sound of October is, I would say "jangly guitars, sun-kissed vocals, some cascading guitar melody, flat-wound bass, light percussion, and thick harmony, and lyrics about change." I would then point them to three songs. This is the first.

Bruce Springsteen, "The Rising"
Bruce is almost always good, and smart, and earnest, and goofy. Here, he's just good, and smart, and earnest.

Tom Petty, "Waiting Is the Hardest Part"
Ah, more great songs by aging goofball legends! If you said I could only take artist's catalog for the entire fall, I would take Petty without thinking. He's got a monopoly.

Led Zeppelin, "Ramble On"
Layup!

Bright Eyes, "Four Winds"
It's the fiddle. Something about fiddle feels autumnal to me. Savor the flavor, Bright Eyes fans.

Son Volt, "Drown"
Serious consequences can still sound cheery.

Pearl Jam, "Breath"
Specific memories here--let's move on!

Kings of Leon, "Notion"
This is #2 on the aforementioned list (The Byrds' "Turn!" being #1). It might not be an amazing song, but it's an amazing sound. Grandeur, excitement, sadness, joy--it's all there.

David Gray, "Babylon"
Very much in the spirit of the season.

Counting Crows, "Butterfly in Reverse"
Specific memories attached to this one, and the whole production of Hard Candy feels autumnal to me. I always thought this song could've been written for a Disney flick, played in the background while wolfcubs frolicked. Cinematic and light-hearted.

Ryan Adams, "Cannonball Days"
Eight years later: where did this lyric come from? Jiminy. Without fall imagery, its story feels like October, helped by the acoustic-plus-organ arrangement.

Bumpercrop, "Burn Everything"
At some point, you have to slow down.

Wilco, "What Light"
If Sky Blue Sky sounds like a very sad fall, this is the hopeful exception to the rule.

Pawtuckets, "Old Fashioned Way"
It sounds like the last sunset of the year.

Gin Blossoms, "Til I Hear It From You"
And here's #3. Two songs inspired me to start Milam's Monthly Playlist:
1) REM's "Nightswimming" (August) and
2) Gin Blossoms' "Til I Hear It From You" (October)

This isn't my favorite song of all-time, although I love it. It's not the best song of all-time, though it's remarkable. It's not the prettiest song in history, though it has to be close. But this song, more than any other, puts me back in a specific time and place so easily, so powerfully, so consistently, it's almost hard to hear.

They say music, at its best, communicates something intangible, that some combination of sounds can transcend their parts and speak the language of our soul. It's a language we don't speak but instinctively understand. It can take you somewhere, and you don't know why, and you don't know how. You're in one place and your heart is immediately transported. It's why I love music, and it's why I love this song.

Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch, "I'll Fly Away"
Maybe it's memories of going home for Thanksgiving or traveling for fall break. Maybe it's the drives on football weekends through the mountains in East Tennessee. But something about subdued Americana has always felt like late fall to me. This song caps off one stage of fall and introduces the next. We're always moving.

And the iTunes Randomized Bonus Pick is...

Bruce Springsteen, "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out"
Ah, Goofy Bruce--we meet again!

What are your Songs for October? Hit up the comments and let me know!

Take advice from fools,
CM

Songs for September

September.

It's the month I've been waiting for. It's the month I really want when I need warm weather in March. It's summer's kept promise, it's the payoff for August, it's the end of the dog days and the beginning of fall. It's the month so good, I ranked it #1. Here's what I said at the time:

"If March is the worst of both worlds, September's the best: it begins with the lingering heat of summer, it ends with the slowly-falling temperatures of fall. It has all the remaining energy of summer but the renewed exuberance of a new school year, a new football season, a new everything. September's the time when things start to happen, the payoff from the overlong waiting game of summer, the beginning of the end of the year. I swear (in Nashville anyway), you can feel the energy pick up September 1st. And while it's got all the perks of fall (weather, football, girls looking their best, amped-up music releases, etc.), it's got the bonus of being first. As it's happening, you can still look forward to the next months and all implied greatness therein. There is no downside to September.

Unless you're a UT fan. In which case your season's probably over by Week 3."

I wrote that in April, when fall seemed as far away as the Olympics. Now I'm writing from Hillsboro Village, on August 26, and the sun's going down, and it's the end of a cloudless day, but it feels like dawn.

Now, thirty songs about possibility, promise, expectant energy, fire, vitriol, fervor, and the last great payoff. Thirty songs about new storylines, new loves, heightened senses, a fresh, better, more memorable season. Thirty songs about the months you'll want to revisit next winter, and five winters from now, the songs you've been waiting for.

Thirty Songs for September!

(Plus the one iTunes Random Pick.)

Sacred Harp Singers, "Idumea"
Like this song, there's something intangible about the eve of fall--it swells up, and bowls you over.

Paul Simon, "Boy in the Bubble"
It sets the stage as well as any.

Josh Ritter, "To the Dogs or Whoever"
And we're off. September is so all-encompassing and jam-packed it's in constant danger of derailing. Then a familiar refrain takes shape, renews its structure, and it races on.


The Hold Steady, "Stuck Between Stations"
I'm a pop music fan. I need a melody. I need a singer. But sometimes, the Hold Steady are so good, so undeniably powerful, I don't need the melody. The band says it all.

Cory Branan, "Miss Ferguson"
From the band who says it all to the man who does. Arguably Branan's most famous song, "Miss Ferguson" is Episode 1 of a new old story. It's the opening chapter of a season-long relationship. Like the two people involved, the song is incapable of holding back.

Counting Crows, "Angels of the Silences"
Remember when the Counting Crows could do this?

Gin Blossoms, "Lost Horizons"
The first of many Gin Blossoms appearances this fall. Maybe I'm crazy, or maybe this is entirely related to my own history with the Gin Blossoms, but no other band from the 90's feels more entrenched in the fall. Their entire catalog feels like the offspring of Zeus and a gold leaf.

Scott Miller, "Goddamn the Sun"
A jaw-droppingly tight vignette from another fall favorite. The song borrows equally from REM and John Donne, is beautiful, and forceful, and inspired. "My window creeps across my wall" alone merits inclusion.

North MS All-Stars, "Drinking Muddy Water"
The third song you want to hear on Gameday.

Wilco, "Kingpin"
Usually, if Jeff Tweedy allows himself a moment of pride or confidence, it's undermined by irony, sadness, or general pessimism. "Kingpin" is a noteworthy exception, and better for it.

Band of Horses, "The General Specific"
Find a quiet road, find a cool breeze, roll down the windows, hit play.

Ryan Adams, "Firecracker"
Something about the harmonica has always felt autumnal to me, so "Firecracker" gets bonus points. But really, it's the song's tone that does it: even when it's desirous, it's at ease. It's comfortable. It's happy. It can take or leave her. It convincingly saves the angst for later.

Teenage Fanclub, "Ain't That Enough"
My introduction to Teenage Fanclub was hearing this song in my brother's car one September. I never stood a chance.

Old 97's, "Question"
Very specific, very goofy memory attached to this one. Still, it sounds like fall.

Ole Miss Marching Band, "Dixie"
The first song you want to hear on Gameday.

Billy Bragg & Wilco, "Airline to Heaven"
Arguably the best cut from the Mermaid Avenue sessions, this song takes a Guthrie song to an even higher place. It's soaring and infectious and sounds like gold.

Tom Petty, "Free Fallin"
Speaking of soaring and infectious and sounds like gold... Some things are cliche for a good reason.

REM, "Radio Song"
If for no other reason than the sheer exuberance during the opening line. For someone so obsessed with the "end of the world," why does Michael Stipe make it sound so good? The song, like the season, is undeterred.

The Wallflowers, "The Difference"
A band entrenched in late fall, "The Difference" is their deceptively sunny exception. It invites complication and races right past it.

Magpies, "Picture Me In a Love Song"
Yes, it's a beautiful song, and yes, its jangly guitars and doo-wop rhythms fit the month. But it's the brilliant piano-work during the outtro that strikes the right, ambivalent chord. A bittersweet song that's much more sweet than bitter.

Lemonheads, "Into Your Arms"
A different version of the story told in "Kingpin," but here the sweet-sounding blues is replaced by suspended chords and sunny melodies.

Nirvana, "Son of a Gun"
Heady memories attached to this one. Moving on!

Pearl Jam, "I Am Mine"
I first heard this song in late September, 2001. Pearl Jam had played a benefit shortly after 9/11, and debuted this new song written in its wake. The bootleg quickly made the internet rounds. Even though the song didn't appear on record until the next spring, I'll always associate it with September.

Green Day, "Wake Me Up When September Ends"
Layup!

Kings of Leon, "Slow Night, So Long"
Once the days start getting shorter, and the air gets cooler, this is the sound of the beginning of your night.


Lucero, "What Else Would You Have Me Be"
A song with so much anthemic energy, every second has a thousand possibilities. The song not only enacts that feeling, but celebrates it.

Rolling Stones, "Loving Cup"
Only "Like a Rolling Stone" features better key-work to start a song. Something about the melody--and the performance of the harmonies--feels like fall. It doesn't sound like home; it sounds like coming home.

Pawtuckets, "She's Gone"
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Pawtuckets' Dogsbody Factotum is the best alt-country record you've never heard. My life was forever improved by my introduction to it one August. "She's Gone" was on constant rotation by September. It is, exactly, the sound of lost love at the beginning of the year's end.

Big Star, "September Gurls"
Layup!

My Morning Jacket, "Anytime"
September doesn't ease into any conclusion. It doesn't stop to consider itself in a moment of sober melancholy. It doesn't take a breath. It turns up the volume and dares October to follow.

And the iTunes Random Pick:
White Stripes, "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself." Hmmm. Aesthetically off, thematically perfect. Touche, Machine. Touche.

What about you? What are your Songs for September? Hit up the comments!

Words only got in the way,
CM

I'm Not With the Band

A while back I was talking with some friends about a local singer/songwriter who, for these purposes, we'll call Scott Latte. Said friends are fans of Scott Latte. I am not.

I'm not a fan of Scott Latte for several reasons. Most of them I've enumerated in the past. Some I've kept quiet because, why piss on someone's sundae? I said that I didn't enjoy Latte's music because I find it dull and humorless and borderline offensive and left it at that. The reply:

"But do you know Scott?"

Of course I don't know Scott. I don't want to know Scott. I wager--right here and now--that I'll never know Scott. But it ultimately doesn't matter if I know Scott Latte, because I know something else: his music.

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Ten years ago, mainstream sportswriting was dominated by Old White Guys. Like professors with tenure, the Old White Guys were entrenched at their newspaper/periodical/magazine, and had been for decades. They knew their beat, they knew their organization, they had personal relationships with everyone involved with the team, and conventional thinking was that this was a good thing. Because of their familiarity with the team, their unparalleled access, and their years logged behind the scenes, they could give fans a perspective that they couldn't get from their living room. That intimacy theoretically gave us better insight to the game we were watching.

Eventually, the opposite became true: writers made friends of the players and executives and lost their objectivity. For example, most noteworthy American sportswriters have an unadulterated mancrush on Brett Favre. When Brett lost his fastball and still tried to force throws, he began throwing interceptions on crucial drives. His team lost games because he was making bad decisions. He simply wasn't the same player anymore. Even great players age. It happens.

But to anyone watching a Green Bay game--hearing it called and reading about it afterward--it wasn't happening. The Packers were losing for seemingly every reason except Favre's turnovers. The gap between commentary and reality was stunning. Football fans everywhere thought, "I know what I'm seeing. I'm not crazy. Favre's past his prime, he's throwing picks on crucial drives, and they can't win consistently like that." But the coverage itself focused on the defense, the offensive line or, if it had to, the consummate brilliance of Whatever Team Favre Just Played. The writers loved Favre, and they weren't going to report objectively about his demise. They couldn't see the forest for the trees.

When the internet hit, sportsbloggers everywhere used this to their advantage. They saw the gap between reality and mainstream media's perception, and figured, "I know what I'm seeing. I don't need media access. I don't need the locker room. I'm going to write about exactly what I see transpire on the field." They figured that fans everywhere experienced sports this way--thoughtfully, devotedly watching the game itself--and doubled down on that viewpoint. Of course, they were right. Sportsblogs have become the mainstream sports media, with even SI and ESPN adopting their own blog-system and hiring the best and the brightest of these former "amateurs" and "armchair quarterbacks."

And what I'm trying to say is this: I don't need the backstage pass. I don't need to know Favre's birthday to know he's throwing picks in a 2-minute drill. I don't need to know Scott Latte's wonderfully enigmatic persona to hear his music. All you need are two ears that work and a finger to hit play, and nothing about personal familiarity changes what actually happens when you do.

The issue, I fear, is that more people need to experience music this way than they do sports. So while sportsblogs take a staunchly objective viewpoint, most music blogs do the opposite: they write about the artists themselves rather than the music. And, to an extent, I get it: artists build their image and construct their persona. They're selling themselves as much as the music. To some degree, we all buy in to a cult of personality when we buy a record. But why hasn't pop culture's dialogue with music evolved like it has with sports? Why do I have to like or dislike a record through the prism of how I feel about the person who made it? Why does seemingly every conversation begin and end with, "But do you know Scott?" Or, why is it important that I feel like I do?

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Last week I watched some YouTube videos of Kings of Leon. To promote Only By the Night last fall, they released home videos of them making the record, talking about the record, rough-housing and prank-playing between sessions, etc.

They were semi-entertaining and largely uninteresting until I got to Day 22, in which Caleb talks about the song "Cold Desert." He describes in great detail the process of recording that song drunk. How drunk everyone involved was. What a moment of inspired drunken genius the performance was, etc. It's the type of video a KOL fan would love, because it fits their persona as simple-minded, fun-loving alcoholics who constantly stumble into success despite their ne'er-do-well antics.

But what comes across on the actual record is something else. Everything about the song--from the tightness of the performances to the mid-song fadeout--is done deliberately. Anyone with two ears and a finger to press play can hear it. There is nothing accidental or thoughtless about their decision to fade the song out in its middle and fade it back in. The song is, by definition, the antithesis of "incidental boozy afterthoughts."

And while it's marginally amusing to say, "I feel like I know Caleb and was with him the night he got so drunk and just felt it and out came 'Cold Desert,'" it's a less rewarding way to experience music. People themselves will let you down. They'll give a different interview every time. They'll self-mythologize. They'll bullshit, cop-out, play-up, and change daily. They're people, after all. But Track 13's the same every time you hit play. It's constant, and identical whenever you come back to it. It's there as a self-contained experience ready to meet you wherever you need it. If you feel fatigued and drowned out, you can revisit that fade-out and know you're not alone.

No, I don't know Scott, and I don't know Brett, and I don't know Caleb.

And if I'm lucky, I never will.

Too young to feel this old,
CM

P.S. Songs for May will be up on Monday, plus another YouTube concert! Tons of updates next week, so check back early and often.

Vids on Parade

The other day I was looking out my back window, wearing multiple robes, stroking a non-existent beard, lemonade in one hand, pipe in the other, waxing nostalgic about Things Long Gone, like "mail," Arrested Development, and music videos.

In 2009, it's redundant to bemoan the extinction of the music video, or to lambast MTV for not playing any, or to wish that videos mattered again. Instead, on this YouTube Tuesday (editor's note: it's Wednesday), a brief homage to the time when videos did matter. Here's a handful that, more than the song itself, made me a fan.

Rage Against the Machine, "Bulls on Parade"

I remember being a middle-schooler post-pickup-game at the community center when I saw this on MTV. I had never heard RATM before. I had never even heard of RATM before. And this video showed tens of thousands in a full-scale and choreographed riot with the music. Where was this band from? Who were all these people? Was there a revolution on, and I'm late to it? What will tomorrow look like? I had to find out.

Pearl Jam, "Even Flow"

Click Here to Watch--embedding disabled by The Man.

My first introduction to Pearl Jam was hearing my brother sing "whoo-whoo" along with the "Jeremy" video. Later I'd realize that "Jeremy" was outstanding and its video arguably the best of the decade, but I was eight at the time. I only knew that my brother's "whoo's" were annoying, and that the video scared the crap out of me.

But "Even Flow" was everything I wanted: an insane live shooting, complete with hilarious anti-authority rants ("not a TV studio....JOSH!"), Stone Gossard's patented bowlegged-strut-dance-thing, a joyous but non-threatening audience of teenagers, and what can only be described as the best frontman histrionics ever recorded on film. It's easy to forget now--knowing what we do about Eddie--but the first time everyone saw the "Even Flow" video, they all thought the same thing: "No. Freaking. Way. What a horrifying badass." Every time you caught yourself wondering, "is this guy for real," he'd jump off a higher balcony, or swing across curtains, or hang from the scaffolding at Lollapalooza without any plan for getting down. And it all started with the "Even Flow" video.

Blur, "Song 2"

One of the only songs I can think of that got to MTV before 96X. As such, I knew the song first as a video, and I loved the song. The video itself offers nothing major to add, to I won't either. Just know that Christmas I asked for a tiny padded room, a giant fan, and a rock band. Guess which one I got.

Usher, "You Make Me Wanna"

Click Here to Watch--embedding disabled by Another Man.

For all the TigerBeat direction of this video, guys loved it, too. You'd think a bunch of 8th grade dudes would profess to hate the pretty-boy with his pretty-boy dance moves, but everyone loved Usher, without shame or guilt. And, even weirder, we were right. Just goes to show that a great hook (hey, remember those, R&B?) can go a long way. Doesn't hurt if the choreography involves Usher actually dancing out of his shoes. I don't care how snarky you think you are, that's awesome.

What are some of the videos that made you a fan?

Kings of Leon, "Sex on Fire"

Click Here to Watch--The Man's active today.

Kidding. Worst video ever. Seriously, watch it and think about how it could be any worse/make less sense/take itself more seriously/be more unintentionally funny. Brainstorm. You'll black out and wake up hours later, your worldview broken, your beliefs shaken. It's that bad/good.

Video killed the video star,

CM

Kings of the People

Behold Kings of Leon. Of Tennessee. Of Youth and Young Manhood. Of Aha Shake Heartbreak. Of Because of the Times. Of 2003's retro-rock revival. Of the sons-of-a-preacher backstory and easy press clips. Of touring with Dylan, Pearl Jam, U2. Of infantile vocals and adult content. Of greasy guitars and echoplex drum sounds. Of this entry. Of "meditations on teenage girls from small towns everywhere." Of infantile vocals and adult content. The band too big to be credible, too small to be pop, too southern to be smart, too retro to be hip, too visceral to be cerebral, too contrived to be real.

Behold them now, freshly and immediately, or find yourself alone in the rearview. Only By the Night, their fourth record, has been out for a month and if it tells us anything, it's this: Kings of Leon aren't close to the band they used to be.

For those of us who loved the band they used to be--Stones-swiping, talent-trumping, cocky, catchy, always risque but rarely risky--that's a scary thought. What's more, it's a scary thought to the Kings themselves. That's what Only By the Night is about, and what makes it great.

First, let's back up.

Youth and Young Manhood garnered KOL press not necessarily because it was a home run, but because it showed promise. It was likable and listenable, pairing sparse rock riffs and simple melodies, episodic lyrics with often interesting vocals. It was a good--but not great--record by a young band that absolutely reeked of greater potential.

Aha Shake Heartbreak didn't change their formula, but improved upon it. In terms of production and arrangement it was deliberately reminiscent of Youth; the approach was the same, the sound was the same...the songs were just better. This bumped them up to "noteworthy" status among the elite. They won critical acclaim, received public praise by Bob Dylan, toured with U2, etc.

Wisely, Because of the Times changed the formula. It swapped fuzzy guitars for heavy and huge sounds. Keyboards and lead guitar melodies were utilized for atmospherics, giving some songs a wide sonic landscape (a U2 influence). Giant, reverb-soaked drums gave every tune undeniable weight. While they were generally writing the same type of song as before ("Fans," and "True Love Way" being exceptions), the songs themselves sounded much different. Where Old Kings wrote groupie-odes to fill a club, New Kings wrote gropie-odes to fill an arena. They suddenly sounded huge, even though they weren't yet.

In Only By the Night, KOL apply new songwriting to that larger-than-life production. "Closer," like the rest of the record, is eerie, heavy, and (like its drum part) off-kilter. Though the setting is the same (some vacant small town, late at night), the topic is different. Rather than struggling with a cheerleader local at a backyard party, the singer fights his own loneliness, frustration, and anxiety. The conflict is internal rather than external. The music and the singer enact a growing sense of dread with no obvious source and no forseeable solution.

Where past Kings would've swiped a light-hearted Stones riff, new KOL revisit a grungier (Pearl Jam-influenced) lick for "Crawl." The choice is fitting, since the song focuses on abuse and manipulation inside a relationship. Our singer is clearly victimized, literally beaten by his counterpart, and (in a powerless show of Old Kings-style machismo) wants to see the girl crawl, beg, and plead before he leaves. Which she doesn't. And he doesn't. In an Old Kings song, this refrain would be a testiment to machismo or, worse, misogyny. Here it's coming from an impotent place, and thus more interesting.

"Sex on Fire" is classic KOL. Structurally, it pairs a downbeat riff with an upbeat rhythm section (long a Kings songwriting trademark). Sonically it's the best version of new Kings: large, ominous, thrilling, cathartic. Caleb's vocals have never been bigger and more open. The chorus pays off as much as sex itself does. "Sex on Fire," because of its subject and energy, will be most recognizable to old KOL fans. For that reason, among others, it's a savvy pick as lead-off single, letting old fans get into the pool one step at a time.

Though it will likely never be my favorite Kings of Leon song, "Use Somebody" is arguably their best. It fulfills the promise of Because of the Times, all big-band bluster, anthemic vocals, but this time adorned with an incredibly sharp, cohesive, inspired lyric. "Use Somebody," may just be KOL's quintessential song, because it fully captures the conflict of not only this record, but the band's career:

I've been roamin' around, I was lookin down at all I see/Painted faces fill the places I can't reach/You know I could use somebody/Someone like you...

"Use Somebody" on the first three records would be a song about using somebody, manipulation of power, and selfish behavior. Now, they invite that interpretation, only to offer a new one: the singer needs somebody. This song is in many ways the sequel to "On Call." While the former is about dealing with someone who is lonely and desperate, the latter is about becoming that person. In this song--and this record--the shoe is on the other foot, and the result is perfectly-crafted, powerful, and new.

"Manhattan" and "Revelry" cement KOL's status as a top tier rock band by showing they're capable of the "likable misstep." Both songs are redeemed by a development new to this record: prominent, melodic bass playing. Jared Followill's bass work takes another leap on OBTN, and single-handedly saves "Manhattan" and "Revelry" from being one-dimensional and goofy.

Another new musical development for the Kings is the multi-part melody, best shown in "17." While the Old Kings' winning formula was simple melodies ("The Bucket," for example, is the same three notes repeated over and over), the new Kings finds melodies that are just as memorable and good but aren't as predictable. Old subject matter is revisited here (a seventeen year-old girl is the subject of Aha's "Slow Night, So Long" as well), but this time is different. Then, the girl was problematic, but certainly an object of desire. Here, she "whines, whines" and "weeps over everything." The melody and song structure this time around are more complicated because the relationship itself is.

"Notion" is at once familiar and a revelation, frustrated and joyful, anxious and unrestrained. This song, like "Fans" before it, feels effortlessly open, melodic, earnest, exuberant, much like the best of Tom Petty's work. The vocal approach is something new (a friend compared it to "late Hanson" to my horror and later, when I realized he was right, chagrin), dynamic and wandering. The performances and production are flawless. It's also telling that the record's most joyful-sounding song is about wanting to give up on a relationship and go home.

If the record is largely about someone not knowing who he is anymore, "I Want You" and "Be Somebody" give glimpses of who that person might like to be. The former places the singer in a familiar scene (girls, a party, etc.), with a new refrain ("I want you/exactly like I used to"). It's more nostalgic than urgent; accordingly, it's more reggae than rock. "Be Somebody" sounds like two songs in one, combining a moody, dark verse with a sudden, soaring chorus that expresses desire to break a pattern and become someone better. In one song, he fantasizes about the way he used to be; in the other he half-heartedly yearns about who he might become.

The album's closer, "Cold Desert," sounds like the sequel to Because of the Times' finale, "Arizona." Desert imagery? Check. Feeling lonely from within the confines of a rocky relationship? Check. Haunting, gorgeous guitar melody that drives the song? Check. Ends the record with a "who knows where this will go next" feeling? Check. "I'm too young to feel this old" captures the conflict of the record: yearning for simpler times, but unable to revisit them.

The record's most interesting moment is its penultimate: the album ends by fading "Cold Desert" out...only to fade the song back in for a final refrain "Nobody knows/nobody sees/nobody but me." This choice is startling upon first listen and puzzling even now. At the fade out's quietest point, Caleb sings a few unintelligible words, catalyzing the band to fade back in. This rewarding and (correct me if I'm wrong) new device seemingly enacts the singer's disappearance. His voice literally lost in the mix, he's figuratively lost himself at the end of this record, with no new direction to take (the song finally ends by winding down, one instrument dropping at a time).

As artists, the Kings of Leon have always been aware of where they're headed as a band and how best to do that. Accordingly, they've become successful and semi-famous. As people, however, those prospects can be frightening and overwhelming. Only By the Night is the sound of them taking that mantle while simultaneously being anxious, frustrated, afraid, and overwhelmed by it. It rightly sounds confident, full, and epic while exploring themes of insecurity, desperation, and crippling loneliness.

People who call themselves "die hard" or (wait for it) "true" fans rapidly dismiss a band theydeemed "sold out." One glance at YouTube comments will tell you that many "true" KOL fans are doing that right now. If a band is small, they belong to you and your friends. If a band is big, they belong to everyone, which feels like a betrayal of the "die hard" fan's relationship to the band. Said band stopped making music for them that speaks to them and is always about them. That band is making music for everyone now, and "I'm special, I'm true, and I'm not like everyone."

Most bands, once they reach that level, learn to write from that rockstar persona. They adopt the songwriting voice of "detached celebrity," because 1) vague, derivative, and detached songs actually appeal to more people (although not as deeply) and 2) they know that's the product they're selling. They find their formula, they stick to it, and they never let you see them sweat.

But behold Kings of Leon, now at that level. Behold them now, because they aren't the band they used to be, not remotely, not at all. Behold them, one of the biggest bands on earth. Behold them on pop radio and MTV. Behold them headlining, anthemic, with light shows and press junkets and Asian tours and product placement. Behold them belonging to everyone, not just you.

And if that scares you, good. It scares them, too. They just made a great record about it--and you--if you wanna listen.

Song of the Week!

And...we're back! Let's kick things off with a brand new installment of...

Milam's Song of the Week

...in which a prodigiously talented young songwriter (me) writes effusively about someone else's stuff. This week: Kings of Leon, "Arizona"

Arizona.wma

For those who may not know, Kings of Leon emerged in 2002, lumped into the "neo-garage" revival with The Strokes, The White Stripes, The Hives, and The Everyone Else. Dubbed the "Southern-fried Strokes," they released Youth and Young Manhood in 2002. Their sophomore release Aha Shake Heartbreak earned them increased critical acclaim and a wider audience, opening for U2 and later Robert Zimmerdylan. While press bandits everywhere slobbered about their "story" (three brothers and a cousin grow up on the road with their traveling evangelical preacher father man, find the devil's music and set out for Nashville), most critics ignored what would actually matter: the songs are good, the band is tight, and these guys know what they're doing. When their third album, Because of the Times, hit the racks in April, I listened optimistically and found an album with an expansive sound, confident performances, imaginative arrangements, and Rubbermaid-tight songwriting.

"Arizona," the album's closer, is no new theme for Kings of Leon; they almost exclusively write about girls, escape, and escaping from girls. This song starts with a single chord, which fades to reveal the steady muted strumming beneath. As the progression winds its way up, then briefly down, then up, finally resolving, we have our opening cadence--a musical device that actually enacts the steady desire for movement. The drums follow, sparse but resounding, and set our feet moving. When the lead guitar's cadence finally comes (00:26), we finally have the musical representation of this song's theme: it gorgeously, painfully reaches for resolution. The bassline, at this point in the song, is a pulsating repetition--only to be varied importantly later.

Caleb Followill's melody harmonizes with the rhythm guitar's cadence. Like the lead guitar, it works in tandem with the music, but still seeks to occupy a different space. The opening verse puts us in a familiar lyrical territory: there's a girl, there's train imagery, and the speaker is in a stagnant situation with a neurotic girl and has a good deal of anxiety. But the music's composition--creating sameness and repetition, then yearning for variation and escape--really tell the story here more than Followill's lyrics. The first percussive variation we have comes in the second verse, a rapid roll that falls on the word "GO." It's no coincidence that the song's backbeat becomes anxious when Followill says what he's thinking.

At 2:20, we enter a very brief interlude. Though the music itself is practically identical to the verse's, the performance of it is audibly different; the cadence that was once plodding, somber, and ominous is now bouncy and energetic, having fun within the confines of its own tune. This moment of contentment quickly vanishes as the third and final verse begins, same as the last two.

When it finishes without any lyrical revelations, the same two-part lead riff follows. Only this time, instead of quieting itself for another verse, it launches into an extended solo (3:20). The bass here changes its line, too, and takes a higher, more melodic route. As the lead guitar works beautifully over the song's foundation--referencing its previous riff while expanding upon it--the song's theme is in high relief. After an entire episode of gorgeous routine and well-crafted foreshadowing, our tune has broken free of itself and escaped. A broken down section (3:47) quiets the lead and realigns the bass with its old tune, suggesting stalled progress, doubt, even fear. Here, though, the drumming and bassline finally vary and build, leading us into the outtro.

The guitar work here is never lightning-fast. It never "shreds." It doesn't sport any technically proficient wizardry. Instead, it simply, perfectly, and beautifully supports the song. Music, at its best, can magically give a sound, voice, and texture to a specific emotion. In "Arizona," Kings of Leon show us what escape sounds like to them--anxious, hesitant, inevitable, doubtful, joyful, explosive, gorgeous, and sad at once. Mostly, it just sounds good.